


The Lion Unseen

by Gyogyo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alternate Canon, Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Gladiators, Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Whump, Worldbuilding, hidden identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyogyo/pseuds/Gyogyo
Summary: A canon-divergent epic in which Zarkon and Honerva survive the Rift.Queen Allura travels to Daibazaal for the first Rift Treaty Summit in 20 years, but upon her arrival, it quickly becomes apparent that things on the wounded planet are much worse than she feared.And with the mood of the court so secretive about Lotor, Allura must covertly search for the truth behind his absence, a search that is bound take her into dark, violent places utterly unsuited to a royal of Altea.





	The Lion Unseen

Alfor watched meteors streak across the night sky, burning themselves out in Altea’s atmosphere. His eyes gleamed, filled with awe. The shining trails fell in many colors, washed out like rain drops against glass, and the exhausted King could feel each falling star like the path of a tear cooling on his cheek or a lump swallowed in the throat. He felt himself smiling, ready to finally satisfy that unquenchable yearning. Yes, he was ready.

* * *

 

The morning after King Alfor died, Allura raced out to the balcony baluster at the sound of the walls shaking. She saw the Red Lion just as it was leaving the State Gardens, disappearing into the mist, melting into the bright sunrise glow of the horizon.

She called out to the chief of the guardhouse below to follow. The company of guards, numb to the orders, mobilized automatically, quickened to catch up to the beast on its trek across the untamed grasslands beyond the Palace grounds.

At first, it seemed Red would lead them to some destination. They kept track, buying time for Allura, the preeminent choice for the next Red Paladin, to call the beast back home. The princess was so freshly wounded with grief, however, and would not leave her mother’s side for any duty no matter how pressing. Eventually, the guards had to be called back and the careered royal scouts were sent with their personal one-man hovercraft to take up the tracking. They looked like tiny scavengers trailing behind a great hunter in hopes of picking off a meal.

But the Lion was ambling, stoic, aimless, unaware of their presence. His long mechanical tail swept in sideways arches and sent waves rippling like a wind storm through the long grass. They covered many sectors, dragged along as exhausted additions to what became a planet-spanning pilgrimage. All the while their hearts ached for the loss of their King and longed for another team to relieve them of this duty.

The word was transmitted to the Palace.

_Red wanders endlessly._

It was known that the Lions could soar across entire galaxies with a few cosmic leaps and bounds. If Red was indeed searching for a yet unknown new pilot or just for a quiet place to reside, he could remember he was a comet once, with a beautiful blazing tail. He could return to flight itself, to a time before his birth.

It was a small comfort to the grieving population then, that reports told of the Lion seeming beholden to roaming the landscape of Altea. One heavy step in front of the other. Surely that meant there was still something on the planet for him?

Ten days after Alfor’s death, Allura formally recalled the scouts against the insistence of court advisors that she order the mission be made indefinite.

“We must rotate scouts to escort the Lion wherever he may go.”

“Red isn’t wayward.” Allura replied. “Should he leave the planet, or stay and wander, I trust my father’s Lion.”

The council of advisors traded nervous looks amongst themselves. Red was the most important legacy of their former King.

“Give the Lion his space.”

“For how long?”

Allura shook her head. “There is no time. We must give up our expectations of a Lion’s timing. We are not the only ones in mourning. Instead, always be ready for his return.”

“But Prin--my _Queen_ , if we lose all bearings on Red we could lose our standing in a revival of Voltron.”

Allura turned toward the worried advisor. “Voltron hasn’t been assembled since the collapse of the Rift. Furthermore, we have no right to cage Red. If we continue to track him from all sides, I fear he may lose respect for our people as worthy of his guardianship or take me as rightful pilot. I believe I will hear his voice when the time comes.”

Allura looked out a steepled window that faced the Gardens. “If I am truly to be the next Red Paladin.”

Twelve days after Alfor’s death, Allura presided over the funeral ceremony. She wore a traditional dress made up of structured red bodice, long sleeves, and a high collar. Attached to the waist seam, her layered gown of thin flowing fabric was stained in red dye specially formulated to fade with time. Each piece was in a different stage of degradation, ranging the full spectrum of pinks from deep to pale like gauze stretched over a wound or a red bloom covered with morning frost. An all-encompassing portrayal of the grieving state according to old Altean wisdom.

Allura held her head high as her tears ached within her and the death prayers were spoken.

Red can be drained  
White can be stained.  
The pallor of Life.  
All its sorrow in the fade.

Alfor had known he was dying ever since the Accident that collapsed the Rift some twenty years ago. The wounds left in Alfor were invisible and yet he felt them close to the bones, he knew something was wrong with him, with the very fabric of his existence. He’d known that the his time inside the Rift had taken something from him, as it took tolls from Honerva and Zarkon in other ways.

They’d all paid their own price.

Alfor pulled the husband and wife out of the Rift with a madness desperate enough to match theirs to enter it. Over the years, no healer, nor sage, nor alchemist could help him, and moreover, even tell that anything was medically wrong. But he knew. Had known.

With his remaining time, Alfor did his best to prepare Allura for the eventuality of her early rule. His wisdom and vigor came to perfect equilibrium before the end, though he’d never rule in his prime.

Everything about the red and white Paladin helmet resting atop the pedestal draped with the King’s royal cloak suggested a merging, a blurred together pink disc in Allura’s eyes, eyes that felt too full and too warm.

Allura was the standing Queen of Altea now. Her mother was to step down as ruler to become royal adjunct like she and her husband had agreed. The eyes of her people were on their new leader and Allura did not wish for anyone to see her weep, but it had been long days and strange nights, hollow nights that she wished for the release to stream down her face.

Alone, at night, she wandered out to the Gardens to do it.

Twenty days after Alfor’s death, the Palace received a transmission from Zarkon’s Command Center, offering his official recognition of the new Queen and all the respects of their peerage. It also expressed condolences for the circumstances that led to her premature rule. The language was formal and precise in it’s timing, like something an ambassador would craft, but it bore the energy signature that identified it as being personally sent by Emperor Zarkon himself.

_We have much to discuss. I await your presence at the Treaty summit._

Allura personally responded with something Alfor used to call them.

_The soldier and alchemist will meet again._

The diplomatic mission to Daibazaal arranged. The need was pressing, even more so than the individual needs of Altea, as the friendship of their kingdoms was badly frayed. Allura was a child the last time she set foot on Zarkon’s world. It was shortly after the turmoil of the Accident and she stood soundlessly present for the formation of the first Rift Treaty. She witnessed Zarkon and her father’s palms press into the casting gel of the data pads, imparting every unique line and coordinate into their signatures.

Now came the time for her to commit her hand to the agreements. To ratify a new age.

There was so much to do, to mend, to learn, to decree, to reexamine. The future of the Treaty concerned her.

For as long as Allura could remember, the probability of their united front breaking into its two impossibly different kingdoms loomed overhead. With Voltron disassembled, Trigel, Blaytz and Gyrgan, the leaders of lesser powers, had all taken their Lions and gone their own ways.

She was concerned for the Galran royal family most of all, they were as badly wounded as Alfor was. Or so she’d been told vaguely as a girl.

“I don’t envy what damage the Rift has done to them.” Alfor once said even as he could see the end of his days like a road fading into the night.

* * *

Allura’s mother, Melanor, who was dressed in her own assortment of mournful fading pinks as she would be for her next year as a widow, brushed through Allura’s hair and hummed a gentle tune. Coran stood outside the door, tasked with turning away anyone who would disturb their privacy. After the funeral and coronation, they had precious few informal moments to spend together. Allura sighed as the bristles lifted away from her scalp. Fingers ran through her hair, gathered and pieced it. Skillful, delicate tugging motions wove her long mane into a neat bun poised like a nimbus behind her head. It was a deceptively complex method of styling to create such a simple and stately look.

“Are you sure you can manage this on your own while away from home?” Melanor asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“Mother!” Allura protested. “Of course I can put up my own hair, but not as well as you. Never as well as you. I’ll have to treasure it like this while I can.”

Allura felt a slight pressure on her left earlobe, then her right. She turned her head to look around at her mother and felt the weight of dangling earrings sway with the movement. A gem knocked gently against her jaw. “Oh these, your favorite earrings! I don’t think I could possibly take these with me. If I were to lose one…”

Melanor’s kind smile shone through her voice. “You may present the image of a glorious new Queen but I couldn’t let my only daughter show herself to Zarkon’s court so personally unadorned.”

Allura caught a glimpse of herself in the long hexagonal mirror on the wall across the room, her reflection’s eye glitching in a stray undulation from a defect in the particle generator. The mirror itself was framed on either side by large ornamental planters filled with juniberry flowers mere days away from blooming. The twin gems glimmered with shifting color, ever changing as she turned her head to examine her appearance at different angles. “They’re so beautiful.”

In the truest way, she’d admired the earrings ever since she could first remember being mesmerized by them from her mother’s lap, shining against snowy hair.

Allura took a deep breath and looked over the rest of her outfitting, a royal breastplate secured over her red bodice and ornamental clasps holding a light cloak over her shoulders. She thought she looked like Melanor and Alfor poured into one person, one ruler, and was suddenly deeply aware of the youth in the face frowning back at her. “I do wonder what the Galra hierarchy will think of me. And what the Emperor will--”

Melanor walked around and blocked the view of her reflection in the mirror. Melanor had a wise face, a comforting likeness to how Allura may expect to appear after many trials in her role as Queen. Melanor took Allura's hands and made her to stand so that they saw eye-to-eye. “There’s no need to worry about that, my dear. Zarkon’s friendship with us still runs deep even if our people drift apart. He will welcome you with an open heart. Don’t ever forget, you’re the daughter of Alfor, but you are also Queen Allura of Altea and Her Protectorates, someone deserving much respect.”

Allura squeezed her mother’s hands a little tighter. “I trust you of course, but even so, I can’t wait to get the niceties over with and get on to reviewing the Treaty.”

“The Treaty won’t be going anywhere.” Melanor laughed. “Well then, now I know you’ll be in good company. Zarkon isn’t known to labor over niceties either.”

“I don’t suspect he’ll labor over tea either.”

“Ah, but you’ve never had a Galran banquet before. It more than makes up for the lack of tea.” Melanor’s gazed distantly, as if she was seeing into the past for a moment. “By the way, do you have my communicator frequency programmed into the ship?”

“Yes, and Corans’.”

“Excellent, darling. If you do anything, remember to trust yourself. You will be your own best council, but if you’re ever feeling home sick, we’ll be here for you.”

“Thank you, mother. I will trust in myself. I just…can’t help from wondering.” Allura looked away from her mother’s eyes and lowered to let her gaze linger on her ear, now strangely naked without a precious sparkle to hold. Melanor waited patiently, ready to listen.

Allura met her eyes once again, searched them deeply. “Would father have let the Red Lion go? Did I really do the right thing by ordering he no longer be followed?”

“A silly question, my dear. I don’t believe Red would have cause to leave your father while he was still living, so I don’t think he would’ve ever imagined it...even after Black, well.”

“You’re saying it’s a moot point?”

Melanor nodded. “In truth, I’m not sure what he would’ve ordered were he in your position. Your father alchemized Red with the force of his own spirit and his own two hands, which bound him to Red in ways that no one, not even his fellow Paladins, could hope to understand.”

“He believed in the will of the Lions to do as they will, choose as they will...but would he have been able to let Red go in the end.” Allura said quietly, slowly accepting that as a question, there would never be an answer.

Melenor took one of Allura’s hands and sheltered it with both of hers. “I’m quite sure he entrusted his kingship and all these things to you for a reason, dear daughter. Your wisdom will grow to exceed even Alfor's in time.”

Allura smiled meekly in acknowledgement. “You know, I will regret missing the Juniberry Festival this season.”

“I will make sure to search the fields for a plant with three blooms opening together. They say that is very good luck indeed.” Melanor drew Allura in, held her tight and didn’t let go until Coran knocked on the door to signal the time.

* * *

 

The flight from Altea to Daibazaal, routine for any navigator, was too great a distance for a system shuttle and yet too close for the need of a teladuv. The cabin air was tense with anticipation. The pilot and crew on board the _Star Seer_ busied themselves with their tasks to give the Queen ample space to prepare herself. Allura sat alone on the uppermost deck, above the command bridge, and looked through the viewing canopy. For a time, she simply relaxed by watching the stars slowly pass by and turning around in her chair every now and then to see how Altea shrank into an ever smaller glowing sphere in the distance. She tried to empty her mind as the _Star Seer_ passed stray moons, seemingly trapped in suspension. Allura couldn’t look away.

Were they knocked off their old orbits long ago? Or fully formed in the cloud of a dead star without any parent planet to claim them?

Whatever the case, all were searching for new orbits as they were pulled along by some greater force of gravity.

When Altea was reduced to the size of a necklace bead behind her, Allura grew anxious. If she couldn’t meditate she would need to do _something_ to busy herself. She opened up the court dossier files Zarkon had forwarded for her review before the summit. She’d already familiarized herself with the dense reports but there remained a daunting list of all Galran court and military promotions, retirements, transfers, dismissals. The highest ranking generals and colony governors were listed at the top. She’d likely have to meet with many of them, but Galran bureaucracy was dizzying, and while her ability to pronounce Galran names and titles had been honed by her royal training, most of the names in the dossier were new to her. She practiced addressing the strangers with the strange consonants in a studious murmur, under her breath.

Down the list she went until she saw a name that struck at her heart with comforting recognition, slowed the anxious beating. The stress of her pinched expression transformed into an easy smile.

_Lotor -- Chief Science Officer_

“Lotor,” she said aloud, with delight, and rehearsed her greeting. “It’s wonderful to see you again, you look well. Congratulations on your promotion.”

Hopefully it would be deemed a proper greeting. She saluted in the Galran way, for good measure.

In truth, Allura had no reference for what Lotor even looked like now.

_He will be a man next I see him._

She hadn’t seen the Prince since he was a child and even then she rarely had time for anything more than a polite greeting before a tutor or trainer of some sort whisked him away for his next lesson. But she could clearly recall him as a vivacious, curious child who could speak skillfully with adults and quickly grew as tall as her by way of a few aggressive growth spurts. Back then, she figured Lotor would be destined to swiftly outrank her, judging by the wide range and intensity of the things that were forming him.

‘Prince’ was merely a family title to the Galra. It held no inherit rank and so, he was sharpened like a blade against the simple, ancient perfection of whetstones. The Emperor’s throne was not something that should be passed down by default. It was something to fight for. To prove oneself worthy of. To take.

_I wonder what Lotor will think of me now. How odd it will seem to him… That I be made Queen by the right of succession._

The pilot’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Approaching Daibazaal, my Queen. Adjusting atmospheric stabilizers in preparation for entry.”

Allura stood up from her seat and walked up to the curved canopy surface, her entire field of vision filled with the approaching planet of marbled red and gray. “Thank you. Send out the transmission of imminent arrival.”

“A Galran escort has accepted the diplomatic frequency. Proceeding to the plateau landing. We programmed their autopilot routing. It’ll be about fifteen minutes until we reach the touchdown point.”

As the approach revealed the full expanse of Daibazaal’s great structures, Allura felt her lips part, awed by the power of those shapes rooted in the desolate vastness.

She’d always napped in the sleeping pods through prior descents as she didn’t enjoy space travel as a child. She’d never seen the planet from a vantage point like this.

Galran architects held a deep love of soaring pyramidal structures that reached up with arrowhead shaped peaks to hold the hazy sun and hazier day moons in the center of keyhole windows. Other structures rose up like giant tuning forks with bands of quintessence humming between the pillars in its cold plasma form.

Among the technological monoliths, older, more sacred things prevailed. Sky-piercing spires perched on precarious ledges. Ziggurats with 10,000 steps leading up to a ceremonial fire basin and natural canyons with 10,000 carved in steps going down into dusty riverbeds where water once flowed.

The horizon line itself gave the strong impression of jagged bottom teeth biting into the red sky, an endless hungry mouth, straining but unable to gnash.

The _Star Seer_ drew closer still, aiming for the landing coordinates. The building face of Zarkon’s Command Center couldn’t have been any more different from the style on Altea. Alteans loved the great clear viewing planes stabilized with a honeycomb matrix of glowing blue energy that made it easy to forget about being enclosed in the tall wedges and rounded hubs. They lived like bees in a crystal hive.

Zarkon’s walls were monolithic slabs of dark gray, slanted to catch the warming cast of the lowering sun. The small view ports were set to an opacity that shielded out the sky and left the interiors an indiscernible light, like the narrowed reflective eyes of a beast.

Another striking difference was the purple glow of quintessence running through the energy grooves and holding containers of the landscape like mechanical streams and reservoirs.

Daibazaal needed the standardized quintessence-based energy to stay alive. This Allura knew. It was as vital as blood in the veins.

“Engaging landing gear. The courtyard is below.”

Allura didn’t acknowledge the pilot’s final statement of protocol.

She could see Zarkon standing far below.  
  
Surrounded by a small group of armored attendants, he looked like the leader of a group of insects, dwarfed as they were by the vast, empty plateau. They were close enough, however, to see Zarkon’s long burgundy-red cloak wrapped around his chest and his head directed up towards _Star Seer_. She could feel his eye contact without seeing his eyes. He was unmistakable, grand.

Allura nodded resolutely and moved to ready herself at the exit ramp. She straightened the clasps of her cloak and smoothed over the layers of her gown. The ship jostled lightly as it touched ground, the doors unsealed and opened to the heavy heat and dust of Daibazaal, and she strode out to meet its Emperor.

Zarkon was garbed in red and slate gray armor with gold insignia emblazoned across the wide span of his chest. He was humble without his usual framing helmet. The sun beat down on the crest of his head and highlighted the fine white scratches stretching across dry keratin. The edges of his crest were bleached white by sun as well, as though the Emperor was spending all of his spare time out on the plateau.

As a child, Allura remembered hearing Zarkon before she saw him. He’d send reverberations through the ground when he walked down a hall. He stood so tall that she’d only ever seen his face in regal low angle, and she mostly remembered a strong set square jaw and steady eyes.

Even now, no longer looking up from behind the safety of her father’s leg, Zarkon absolutely towered over her. When she finally drew near enough, Allura began to bow to him, lowered her head. “Emperor, it’s an honor to be in your company.”

His gentle chuckle was a rumble so low in his chest it seemed to come up from the ground. “I could say the same, Queen Allura. Welcome to my home.”

From her reverent position, Allura could see him extending a large, clawed hand to her. “There’s no need for any bowing or titles between us, daughter of Alfor.”

Straightening up, she reached to accept his hand. Zarkon took hold of her arm above the elbow hinge, and while she could scarcely reach the same place on his arm, she returned the grip, looked up at him. Their forearms parallel, they linked together as equals. It was the same greeting that Zarkon and Alfor had once shared as friends, she realized. Allura had meditated on the memory of her father to train her heart to be strong for this moment. Yet tears sprung to her eyes. She was standing in the footsteps of a ghost.

“Alfor would be proud if he could see you now,” Zarkon said in his baritone voice. “Taking up his mantle with such grace and honor.”

Allura nodded gratefully, blinking at the fullness of her eyes. “He spent much time preparing me for the day I would take his place. I feel--I feel there is a great purpose for us to serve here. That peace and prosperity greater than even what the Paladins knew is possible for us.”

Zarkon exhaled and seemed to deflate with the escaping breath. His face, made of strong shapes and sharp angles, just as she'd always remembered, but now the hollow of his cheeks had deepened. The concave slopes of his eye sockets were carved out by the erosion of stress. He released his grip on her arm and the link between them dropped away. “I’m glad you’re here, Allura.”

Zarkon’s stature may have been massive but it was odd to see the Emperor with the bearing of a weary king. He took up less space somehow.

“Come now, to my Command Center. We should put that ambition of yours to use.”

“Lead the way, Zarkon.”

As they walked together, the dust lifted off the ground in little churning whorls. It was a brief prelude before their cloaks whipped around them in a surge of strong, burning wind. Zarkon caught the edge of his cloak and kneeled down to shield Allura with it like a wing draped to protect her from the worst of the sear. She accidentally brushed against the heavy mace attached to his belts. The weapon wasn’t sharp with its bladed edges and handle collapsed down, so she was in no danger of being hurt against it. She jolted anyway, suddenly feeling inadequate for not having a sword by her side as her father once did.

From under the cloak, she caught a quick glimpse of the Galran attendants standing firm in silent discipline.

“Strange,” Zarkon barked out, squinting into the distance as if he expected to see a source for the wind on the horizon. “The sky usually holds its breath at this point in the season. I wouldn’t expect the great air stream to snake its way over my abode until the Red Twilight.”

“I’ve read about some weather disturbances in my dossier,” Allura supplied, raising her voice above the howl of the wind and coughing a little from under Zarkon’s thick red cloak.

“Then you know how the Accident has made my planet unstable,” Zarkon said gruffly. “Wind patterns are the least of my concerns.” He cleared his throat. “This planet has felt many aftershock events since the collapse of the Rift.”

Soon the surge ran its course and the two royal peers were able to walk together again, unguarded and unimpeded. “Are you alright, Allura?” Zarkon asked as he tossed his cloak over his shoulder, leaving an arching trail of red dust behind him.

“Quite alright, thank you.”

“Keep close in case the wind comes back stronger or the ground opens up beneath our feet,” he said and laughed darkly at his own words.

Allura chuckled politely to humor him. She didn’t find it funny at all. “Sounds like Daibazaal is in desperate need of healing.”

“She is. She has been for some time,” Zarkon replied. He walked slowly, compensating for the two strides Allura needed to keep pace with his every step. “It may not be normal but I find the wind an encouraging sign. I’ve had dreams that a strong gust of wind would come roaring out of the gorge to herald the Black Lion’s return. That a wind would blow through whatever secret den he chose for his hibernation and waken him...he is a sky spirit, after all.”

Zarkon looked up for a moment before letting out a sigh and pushing on his jaw to crack a few vertebrae in his neck. “I figured I’d hear the voice come to me after the wind.”

He spoke through a tightened throat. “It’s foolish, but I can’t stop myself for listening closely, every time.”

“It’s not foolish at all. I’m listening carefully myself.” Allura tucked a lock of hair loosed by the wind behind her hair. “I, too, am waiting for a voice.”

Zarkon looked at her and hummed deep in his chest, understanding. “As soon as I saw your transport ship enter the lower atmosphere, I knew the Red Lion must have gone the way of its kin. Am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong. Red has departed from us, I’m afraid.”

“Forgive me, but I’d fully expected to see you step out onto my planet from Lion’s maw.” Zarkon’s voice was open and earnest. “When did he leave?”

“At sunrise, the morning after my father died.”

“That’s a pity.”

“I’m not sure what to think yet. I can’t hope to know what’s in Red’s mind, but I don’t think the Lion’s evolution is over. They have a strange sort of wisdom that goes beyond our own. I trust that wisdom.”

Allura knew the Lions were a very sensitive subject with the former Black Paladin. For all that has happened in the last month, she’d forgotten how to tread lightly around it.

Alfor never talked to her in detail about how Zarkon’s Lion deserted him after the Accident. Whether it was out of respect for the pain of his old friend’s loss or out of pity or just from the sheer exhaustion brought down by the weight of it, Allura did not know

But she once looked into her father’s face when he returned home from a meeting with Zarkon and saw how it haunted him, lips drawn into a tight line and eyes gone black.

The Lions were not created as equal copies of the same base machine.

They were once as unrefined shards, divided from a single indestructible, trans-reality sailing comet--one that did not disintegrate, not even upon fiery impact.

The ore, with unpredictable fissures, surprising geometry, broke into five unique pieces. Not because the Alliance leaders at the banquet table numbered five, but because five was the number it sought to be. There was a mysterious intelligence to it, a sentience from before the start.

Black was the greatest of the pride, the largest, the most powerful, the most thoughtful.

Black was the first to open his eyes, the cool heart of the comet, the core of Voltron.

Until his disappearance left Voltron clipped of wings, beheaded.

“I admire that trust,” Zarkon said. “Alfor had it too. He had it enough for all of us.” Then his voice lowered. “Although I must say, the loyalty of the Lions continues to disappoint me.”

“Red hasn’t left Altea. He seems to be...tethered there. As Black is to Daibazaal, even though he remains hidden,” Allura said, hoping it would be a comfort to defuse Zarkon.

It was not.

A tension seized the air and a hard blade of anger crept into Zarkon’s voice. He looked out onto the distance again. “Red at least had the decency to wait for his Paladin to pass into the night before abandoning him.”

Allura kept herself silent.

Then Zarkon fumbled. “I’m sorry. This isn’t an easy time for you and your wounds are far fresher.”

Allura dismissed his need for apology with a wave of the hand. “My healing has been easier. I know some of what you’ve suffered.”

“Black chose me--” Zarkon said softly, his anger cooling as quickly as it had flared. “And he can reject me. I brought the disgrace when I alone caused the Accident. The Lion understood the concept of a trade, I believe.”

“Our Lions will return to us one day. Perhaps not when or how we expect, but they yearn for their pilots. They feel. As we make ourselves worthy of them, I believe they must ready themselves as well.”

“Alteans really are quite incredible… They feel, you say?”

Allura bowed her head. “Yes. I often wonder what the comet thought of the crater it made. That it made a footprint, a wound?” She looked up to Zarkon. “That it made a mirror...the reflection of itself?”

The Emperor looked back at her strangely, a touch of confusion in the deep furrow of his brow and a touch of awe below in his onyx and ochre eyes. “I wouldn’t know about that. I once knew everything that was in Black’s mind, or so I thought. Perhaps his mind was one great echo chamber, one that housed me while I piloted, fed me my own reverb.”

“Zarkon?”

“Allura, I should have listened to Alfor when he warned me about...everything. I will follow your guidance in these matters.”

They continued to walk towards Central Command.

And walk, on and on as the hazy atmosphere seemed to erase the horizon and merge ground and sky for just a moment.

Allura daydreamed about the role reversal of Altea playing host to Zarkon as its royal guest. Their travel would have been seen to by an ivory white monorail that left an afterimage of blue plasma behind it as it traveled at smooth blurring speed. They would already be drinking tea in the Gardens. Tea, cold, with colored ice and an assortment of native floral syrups.

But that was impossible to imagine now, on the plateau veiled in red. Allura licked the roof of her mouth, found it tacky and tried to put a refreshing Altean luncheon out of her mind.

The Galra, the most technologically advanced and dominant race in the universe, still harbored a certain, indelible appreciation for traveling on foot, for ascending stairs, for feeling the scale of their world in the bones of their legs. At any rank, they traversed over vast courtyards, talked against the wind, conducted entire walking meetings. They took leisure from most other culture’s idea of ordeal.

Allura let herself fall behind a few paces and slipped into the more comfortable temperature of the Emperor’s shadow. The attendants marched along in formation, flanking and automatically making space for her, yet not sparing her a glance. They must have been elite bodyguards, silent impersonal suits of armor.

“You keep such...well-trained company.”

“Well-programmed company,” Zarkon answered. “They’re Sentries. Artificial personnel. This group is already fully inundated with my commands.”

A pink light glowed from the ocularium of the nearest Sentry’s visor, triggered by the sound of Zarkon’s voice, keyed in on _command_. There was nothing alive in there. Just the intelligence of the maker and the glow of Galran energy cells.

“I see.”

Allura stared ahead at the cloak draped over Zarkon’s back, taking a moment to study how he walked, watching for any symptoms that she’d once watched descend on her father. Signs that his contact with the Rift had been fatal.

That horrible latent fatality that cast a pall on Alfor’s every move.

Grace had abandoned the King, his feet numb, unable to feel when he touched the ground. His eyes dulled and he needed to rest often. Everything about his presence told how the tendons of reality that some horrible Rift anomaly had torn within him.

The day Alfor finally pulled his young daughter aside and said, _Allura, my darling Princess. I have something to tell you but please don’t be afraid_ , she was already nodding her head. She knew then and had known for some time, but it needed to be said aloud. She took his face in her hands, kissed his forehead and let him confess to his child that he was dying.

Allura looked ahead, her brow smooth as Zarkon’s shadow blocked out the sun.

Zarkon was no dying man.

Zarkon probably didn’t know how to die. He was guarded, yes, but didn’t seem to know how to put on false displays.

Allura looked at the halfway closed fists that his gigantic iron-hard hands assumed at rest and saw straight through him. He felt the turmoil of life too much to worry about death for even a second, bore the Rift Accident in a different way than Alfor. Zarkon walked like someone ready for any battle, any burden. His entire frame was strung tight between dueling energies. Generated a low burn of buried rage, the need to destroy or be destroyed, wasting on the stillness in between. He thrummed in stasis.

“Zarkon, may I ask? How’s your health?”

He turned to her like a desert stone turned over to its cool side and his eyes softened. He grumbled amiably, “Better than I deserve.”

The markings at the top of her cheeks glowed bright and she saw a burst of pink for a moment as fleeting as a single heartbeat. She felt her alchemical magic rush through her every cell.

“Whether you believe it or not, I think Alfor would be proud if he could see you now as well. He always said there was a reason why Black chose you to begin with. He called you the Leader of leaders.”

The wind’s breath sighed across the ground, no need for shielding against it. “Even after Black left, he thought no differently.”

* * *

 

She heard the crackling of flame before she saw it.

“The Galra are an ancient people. We could never forget our own legacy, how our ancestors first domesticated fire, long, long ago. It’s a relic of old power from before even our most basic technology, certainly before quintessence replaced it.”

Allura stepped through the the threshold of the Command Center’s first antechamber.  

“And fire remains in our souls still,” Zarkon said, gesturing around to the many bright violet fires adorning the walls in their sconces, the variable pond of the same flame in the center of the antechamber. “Imported from sacred Feyiv.”

“Oh my, I could just stand _here_ for my whole visit.”

She really could. The flame didn’t seem to radiate any heat, it roared and bathed every surface in a dancing violet waves. She reached out with her hand above the fire pool.

Zarkon quickly caught her wrist and guided it back down to her side. “It might feel cold from here, but don’t touch the flame. Feyiv’s fires have an extremely small field of thermal radiation, but they burn as hot as any other.”

“Goodness, that’s quite deceptive. I’m certain I’ve seen people on Galran colonies touching the fire.”

Zarkon paused, and for a moment, Allura feared she’d said something very wrong, but then a loud, hilarious laugh burst out of him. “That must have seemed odd to you! Wanting to do as they do? I don’t recommend it. That was for their _palen bol_ , of course.”

“Oh! ...but of course.”

The main interior of the Center was unbelievably vast and surprisingly cool, like a natural cavern. The air was filled with the echoing cacophony of many patterns of footsteps. The sharp clacking of metal soles from the ancillary staff, those she could see as they changed posts, and those she couldn’t.

Allura sighed as the air swept over her flushed skin. She held onto Zarkon’s arm for stability as she shook out her cloak, shedding red dust on the ground like a magic circle around them. His armor was hot beneath her bare fingers, still soaked with the outside heat.

Zarkon excused himself to confer with his awaiting advisor and relieve the sentries from their escort duty to perform other tasks. It gave Allura time to freshen up. A Galran servant approached her, head bowed, and prompted to relieve her of her cloak. “I’ll take this to your guest room, Highness.”

When she tried to thank him, he only nodded and averted his eyes.

Allura found her way to a large fountain installation with a carved arch of solid crystal shaped to resemble water and the basin filled with slowly undulating silver plasma. She pat the remaining dust from her gown, checked her earrings in the fractal reflections of the crystal surface, and smoothed out her hair.

Beside the crystal arch, there was an unassuming pedestal with a leveled disc, holding a beat up old flight helmet of some sort, covered in gossamer gray. Allura walked around to get a better view and gasped. The shape and the color. It was the retired helmet of the Black Paladin.

It was ruined.

A terrible impact dented the temple, sending a lightning bolt crack down the visor.

Where the Red Paladin helmet sat upon its honored pedestal on Altea, the dulled black and white helmet looked like a forgotten museum artifact.

She looked back, Zarkon was further down the hall now, underlit by the glow of the energy grooves running along the floor.

They burst bright, solar white.

An alarm screeched through the halls like a terrified bird of prey.

Allura closed her eyes to the assault of light.

“Lord Zarkon!” a voice called out over the sound.

Massive surveillance screens activated in the open air of the Command Center, scaling the figures to nearly life size and Allura watched in horror at the scene unfolding on the hologram.

Galran civilians of all kinds running, dragging themselves, away from a pyramidal building, already cracked in half and in the process of caving in.

Zarkon’s voice boomed back through the hall. The echo amplified his voice into that of a giant. “Scale that back. What is the severity?”

The image pulled back and showed more buildings, cracked as if they’d been attacked by a cosmic chisel and the road yawned open dangerously in places. In the distance, layers of rock sloughed off sheer cliff faces. Raw, golden energy escaped as beams of light burst from the trenches in between ground plates.

“Seismic data is still coming in, sir.”

“What ships do we have in that sector?” Zarkon demanded, walking briskly back to where the viewing screens originated.

“Platform 35, the Djeti hover base. Djalg squadrons four and seven are stationed on board for training.”

“Ah, a military presence. Good.” Zarkon stood now before the wall-to-wall screens and took in the scene. “Get the particle generators online. We need a barrier for falling debris. Scramble Djalg four to assist in evacuations. Keep Djalg seven on standby in case of chain reaction. Do we have any Sentries there? Mobilize them.”

“Sending orders, Lord Zarkon.”

All around the base, officers and scientific staff rushed to man communication stations at Zarkon’s direction. The alarms abruptly cut off when someone keyed to override code to be replaced with an eerie, concentrated hum of military orders. The sudden normality of operations was chilling.

Allura ran up to meet Zarkon before the center of the screen. “Zarkon, do you have need of my pilots? I could send coordinates to the _Star Seer_ to assist in evacuations.”

“I appreciate your good will, but there’s no need for that, we have a protocol that the presence of another ship could disrupt.” Zarkon turned around to face her and smiled apologetically. “I expected some aftershock activity to occur during your stay but...not this soon. I apologize for the interruption but I must continue to see to this operation.”

“By all means! Please don’t forestall tending to your people on my account.”

“This is a minor quake,” Zarkon said easily, even as the masses of people on surveillance poured out of their outpost in a panicked stampede, desperate for survival. And in the crowd, what appeared to be a bonded couple were on their knees, stalling at the edge of a rift, golden light on them as they screamed and reached down into it. Allura could feel them weeping.

The screen particulates went fuzzy around the Emperor’s outline, where his form disturbed the continuity of the image.

Before her eyes, waves of Galra breaking upon the body of their Emperor.

His face was facade of dispassion. He looked to be transported to a place of automatic calm, strangely dreamlike, a boulder unmoved by the white water of a rushing river.

Allura couldn’t focus on eye contact with him as she kept looking over his head and around his shoulders. In her periphery, the data scrolls rolling in on the side panels of the screen, already quantifying, already wringing out numbers from the chaos.

Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding, as though Allura herself was among the fleeing masses.

Zarkon cleared his throat. “It may ease your mind to go to Honerva in the meantime. She’s been looking forward to it.”

Allura jolted at the mention of Honerva, her name a welcome sound. “Oh yes...yes please, I’d very much like to see her.”

“This would also be a good time for your briefing. Please bear with Officer Kyrek, she may be my wife’s personal attendant but she’s not trained in hospitality.”

“I more than make up for it with other credentials, my Lord,” replied a voice from behind Allura.

She turned around to a tall, severe looking Galran woman who saluted Allura by striking her fist against her chest. “Former chief medical officer not the least among them. Come with me then, Highness.”

* * *

 

Kyrek walked with hands clasped behind her back and her metallic footsteps ringing out. Unlike Zarkon, she did not slow her steps and forced Allura to keep up with her long strides. Kyrek’s waist was bound tightly in a thick bolt of fabric. The shoulder pads and tails of her jacket were tailored to dramatically sharp angles, giving her a fierce silhouette and making her look larger than perhaps she was.

It wasn’t long before she stopped at an equipment station and started looking through armor and gear as if the new Queen of Altea wasn’t even there. Allura realized that she was at the mercy of Galran military efficiency.

Eventually, the tall officer turned around and commanded, “Hold out your arm.”

Allura quickly obeyed the stern voice and in a rapid sequence of movements, Kyrek fitted a sleek data bracer of the most elegant Galran design onto her forearm. She heard the hiss of decompression as the device squeezed down, adhering to her form exactly. There was a locking sound and pink lights flashed to life in the hooded ports at her wrist.

“The Galra interface is fairly intuitive. Your crown bills will be converted to GAC during your stay. You’ll also have access to all our maps, scanners, references, translation keys, etcetera. Any questions?”

Allura held up her arm and marveled at the sleek curve of the bracer in all its perfect simplicity. She looked back at Kyrek, staring for a moment at her high cheekbones and the streaks of red cosmetics extending from the outer corners of her keen eyes to her temples where the pigment faded against the darker skin of her scalp. “I’m not very familiar with Galra technology, but I’m sure I’ll learn along the way.”

“Make sure you return to the Lab here to refuel the cells. You have an internal code that will exempt you from energy rationing.”

_Rationing._

Extracting quintessence from the Rift base had ceased but the energy demands were as high as ever in the aftermath. Colonies were worked harder to maintain themselves as well as the energy hungry mother planet. The elderly and sick Galrans who were accustomed to fortification by tanks that pumped biologically specialized quintessence into their frail systems but now found their supply insufficient were a question for Zarkon alone to ponder, but one that Allura couldn’t easily put out of her mind.

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“Good. Now we have some real business that needs attending to.”

Kyrek waved her over to an alcove in the hall, a relatively more private space where two people could face each other with their backs against a wall and a sconce light in between. Quite a small social distance indeed. Kyrek stood by the room, allowing Allura to enter first and then followed behind her.

Kyrek entered a code on the entry panel and an opaque shell closed over the entrance, sealing them both in the alcove. “This room is now soundproof and cloaked. What I have to brief you on is quite sensitive.”

Allura took a few awkward steps back until her back touched a wall.

“Don’t look so alarmed, Highness, it’s just a briefing. I have one purpose here and that is to protect and serve my Empress. That includes making certain things known to anyone who enters her sphere.”

“That’s quite noble. You’re not unlike the royal guards on Altea then.” Allura said, a little stiffly as she adapted to the closeness of the room.

Kyrek didn’t show much reaction to that. If anything, she looked almost offended for a moment. “Because I guard an Altean, Highness?”

“No, not at all. Because of your loyalty to the Empress,” Allura replied quickly.

“I’ll try to make this quick,” Kyrek said, her voice clipped. “She really does want to see you and far be it from me that I could keep her waiting.”

“Please continue.”

“You should first know that while Honerva is my Empress, she is not thought of by all. Some Galrans, and, to be frank, Altean transplants at the labs here--science officers and regulators--have no love lost for her. Not after the chain of destruction her research brought.”

Allura’s heart sank.

“Hebron, the Prime Regulator overrode Honerva’s scientific proposals,” Kyrek said, voice hard. “And she’s since recused herself from quintessence research all together.”

“I--I didn’t know that.”

“The Empress mostly supports Zarkon now, compiles the Rift aftershock data...and designs energy canisters.”

“Canisters? Honerva is the greatest scientific mind on either of our planets. That’s the work of a technician.”

“Indeed.”

“I could speak to the Prime Regulator, see about his methods. See to Honerva’s--”

Kyrek uncrossed her arms and interrupted sharply. “Highness, I’m not trying to ask for your intervention. This is the state of things. Altean or not, I ask you, would you _see_ about one of Emperor Zarkon’s rebellious generals to alleviate him of that challenge if you thought you had the power to do so?”

Kyrek didn’t pause to allow for an answer even as Allura already understood the reprimand. The tall officer had the unnerving ability to keep her face perfectly serene as her voice carried the torrent of command. “No, I think not. As the Queen of Altea you may hold power over the Alteans living on bases here, but I’d ask you not to undermine _my_ Empress by flexing your power in place of hers.”

In that instant, Allura instantly understood the problems Alfor must have faced when he appointed Honerva to the research lab over the Rift on Daibazaal so long ago, never expecting that she’d be woven into the native bureaucracy. That she’d become one with Zarkon. That she’d come into her own sort of power, thrall him. Capture power, chase and fall with it.

“I understand. I’ll keep it a strictly private matter, something for Treaty revisions. I’ll keep Honerva’s dignity as much of a priority as I did my late father's.”

“There’s more, Highness. A sort of medical history no one is privileged to besides Zarkon, myself, at a point not so long ago, King Alfor, and now...you.You are not to speak the child’s name before my Empress, for the good of her health.”

“The child?”

“The son I was there to deliver,  yes. Lotor.”

_Lotor._

“This is for her health?”

“As a doctor I observed both Honerva and Alfor after the Accident and I came to the conclusion that their symptoms were not inherently medical.”

Although the room was very dim, the sconce lighting radiated a cool bath of light onto Kyrek’s face. She crossed her arms again. “In fact, Honerva recovered from her wasting sickness after exposure to that energy. We do not understand the Rift enough to know the true nature of these consequences. But surely you heard Alfor describe it as something within him severed, yes?”

“He said things like that.” Allura bit her lip. “I believe, save for his devotion to me, he lost his will to live.” She didn’t know why she confessed that aloud, in front of an imposing Galran officer no less. She knew Kyrek wouldn’t appreciate tears so she held them back. “What of Honerva’s condition?”

“The power of the Rift’s quintessence saved the child but took from her, her motherhood. You must not speak Lotor’s name because she does not speak it herself.”

“I don’t know if I understand.”

“Then I will explain, I was there throughout it all. The Empress gave birth in a twilight sleep and while the infant was exhausted from the trauma of birth, he had a strong cry. She did not stir for his cries. When she tried to hold the child, she did not recognize him. When the child tried to feed, there was nothing in her breast for him.”

“She eventually rejected him and I arranged for nurses to care for the child instead. That is what the Rift took.”

Allura groped for some surface to hold onto, but the walls were smooth and bare.

“He once served as Honerva’s proxy in research projects on the grounds of the old Rift base, overseeing both Altean and Galran technicians. But no longer.”

“Was Lotor transferred to another science base then?”

Kyrek’s lip curled up in a moment of poorly disguised amusement. “If you consider his _thak tusmak_ to be a transfer. He dishonored his station and was discharged for it. Proscribed a new tier of training. He’s atoning now.”

Allura couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her head was swarmed with so many questions but she could only process enough to simply say, “I--I didn’t know that. My dossier must not have been updated.”

“It wouldn’t be something kept on official diplomatic record. It’s an internal matter,” Kyrek informed, clearly growing impatient. “Those submitting to _thak tusmak_ have their stations frozen. In Lotor’s case, to preserve what’s left of his reputation. He was sold to a _tvorak_ after all.”

Piece by piece, Allura’s strategy for crafting the terms of the new Treaty crumbled, her mission suddenly hollowed out. Lotor was positioned to bring in a new kind of future, born of a Galran warrior and Altean alchemist. Surely his mixed blood was more proof of concept for the bonds of alliance between their people than what any obsolete writing fluid could spell out. Allura tried to quickly recalculate an approach to the Treaty without Lotor as a main player, but her mind was unseated, feet unsteadied. She leaned back onto the wall for support.

_Kyrek said dishonor._

_Dishonor?_

_Sold?_

“Will I still be able to see him?”

Kyrek’s eyes flashed. “Not as you would want, Highness. _Thak tusmak_ is a trial undergone to regain something that was forfeit. It’s for those who have already taken everything they can hope to take from their _palen bol_ but are not yet enlightened. Please understand, Highness, I cannot brief you anymore on Lotor. It’s not within my authority to say more and I will not speak his name to you after this.”

Allura fell silent.

“I will not risk upsetting my Empress.”

“I still wish to see him,” Allura said, feeling numb as she forced herself to drag her eyes away from Kyrek’s feet, return to eye contact and the studied poise to be expected of any Queen. “But I will not...I will not speak of him.”

“Very good. This is not a piece of advice I’m giving you. It’s court decree. We all must live by it, at least until the _thak tusmak_ is satisfied.”

Kyrek turned back to the entry panel, about to key in the security release that would withdraw the covering that hid them when Allura took a step forward. “Did Alfor know about this?”

“I told him everything I’m telling you now. He had much the same look on his face as well.”

* * *

 

Allura stepped onto the large platform disc that would take her up to the level where Kyrek told her Honerva would be waiting. A ring light pulsed around its perimeter as it slowly elevated. She lifted her left arm and keyed experimentally into the commands of the data bracer.

“Search personnel,” she said, testing for voice recognition. To her mild surprise, a holo panel materialized a menu for her.

She took a deep breath.

“Lotor. Current rank. Post. Status.”

The menu phased to a new screen, returning her search.

_Rank, Chief Science Officer. Posted to Rift Lab, site one. Status, active service._

Allura gasped when she suddenly saw him. A portrait displayed on the panel, Lotor, the adult. He wore a dashing Altean uniform.

“ _Thak tusmak,_ ” Allura commanded, desperate for anything as her eyes scanned the determined look in his eye, his once familiar face made new.

The panel changed again. His face dimmed, like a shadow overlay descending.

_Rank, Gladiator. Posted to Otkup. Owned by Vetorix. Status, alive._

She couldn’t breathe.

But there was no time to dwell.

Bad placement and bad timing had her spooked. Allura quickly closed the holo panel, afraid that her first meeting with Honerva would be ushered in by the shadowy picture of Lotor’s face floating between them, right after Kyrek’s stern brief.  

For a second, Allura wasn’t sure she even had the energy to see the Empress, but then the platform came to a stop and then she saw her.

Honerva looked healthy. She walked well, towards her as she would a daughter, arms open. "Allura!"

As a child, the adults around Allura would whisper that the wasting sickness ate at both Honerva’s body and mind. Now, it didn’t seem so. The hollows of her cheeks filled out, her skin a lovely reddish-brown, slightly deeper than Allura’s own. Suddenly Honerva was on her, embracing her wordlessly. Her weight echoed that of Melanor’s comfort. The bolt of fabric that bound her waist told of a slim but solid figure.

When they stood back with hands joined, Allura, stunned by the show of emotion, released an astonished burst of laughter wrapped up in exhalation. “You are not usually known for this informality, my Lady.”

The Altean before her was dressed in the maroon and gold of Galran robes. Honerva’s whitened gray hair was braided and draped over her shoulder.  “I was so sorry to hear about Alfor and I’ve awaited this moment.”

Allura squeezed Honerva’s hands, reaching out with a gentle swell of soft magic. She felt her markings glow bright, saw through a film of pink that bathed then burst. She saw Honerva’s face smiling differently, growing sad. Her own reddish marking dull and dormant--stretched. Stretched like the history of skin after giving birth. After a moment, Allura realized that her unspoken greeting was unfelt.

“I’m afraid I can’t commune with you in that way, child.”

“Honerva…”

“Come with me to the outer deck. We need to talk about the state of Daibazaal for just a moment. Zarkon probably couldn’t bring himself to be as frank. I still retain some magic. I can shift, so I do. I find it pleasing. My husband’s people are my people after all.”  
  
And then Honerva's changed before Allura's eyes.

The Empress's shape didn’t shift so much as her surface did. She was the wrong proportions for a Galran, with their long limbs and broad shoulder girdles, yet a shadow of an Altean filled into the frame of one. Her eyes glowed gold against dark skin.

She looked like a queen dethroned, far from home, lost in an indigo shadow.

_One who outlawed even the memory of her own son._

“Ah, the newest model of bracer. Let me see.” Honerva held up the arm that bore the sleek device and touched a place on her wrist.

Allura felt her knees go weak, afraid that her prior menu would be pulled.  
  
She nearly cried out.

Thankfully, Lotor's face didn't materialized. Instead, a holographic model of Daibazaal appeared before her, three-dimensional and partly transparent. The surface and inner core could be seen together and all at once.

“A barren home isn’t new to the Galra. This planet hasn’t held an ocean for millennia and her wine has lost the taste of her own yield for generations.”

Honerva triggered an overlay in the projection. A purple glow covered most of Daibazaal like gossamer web. “Life here would’ve died out ages ago without the network of quintessence structures.The influx of what is extracted from the colonies powers it.”

Allura didn’t have time to admire the all-consuming glow of purple before Honerva changed the overlay. This time, a web of yellow, reaching out like skeletal branches, over the surface and diving into the core. The planet looked like broken pottery, barely holding itself together.

“The data from aftershock patterns since the collapse of the Rift.” Honerva explained.

“Oh Ancients…Honerva, this is--”  
  
“A dying planet.” Honerva’s face darkened. “Every time a new aftershock wreaks havoc somewhere on the planet while I remain here in comfort, Zarkon’s choice is felt by his people.”

“None were wise enough to prevent this.” Allura said softly, mourning again, that Honerva could not feel the meaning extended her empathic magic. “But he saved your life and you possess great powers even now.”

Honerva looked at her tenderly. “The cost was too high, child.”

On the projection,, a jagged yellow branch dug in, spread like splinters in ice. “Once he demonstrated to the world that he weighs his love for me greater than the world...none can forget.”

“At the current rate of internal Rift activity, Daibazaal’s core will implode in about 200 years from now. Perhaps sooner, but no longer. Even older generations will likely be alive to see it.”

“Do you foresee migrations to the colonies?”

“Eventually. But it will have to be decreed. There isn’t a word in our language for the Galran’s loyalty to a planet, to their own place in the universe. I believe many will have to be forced to leave by the last call for evacuation. They are like children, willing to go hungry before leaving the bones of their mother--”

Honerva paused, her attention caught by something.

Allura followed the path of her gaze to the edge of the paved courtyard beyond. A slowly encroaching Djeti platform base, a great, floating behemoth, hovered just a few hundred feet above, casting a sharply demarcated line between light and shadow.

Honerva was watching the movement there. At the edge of the curtain of deep shade, two young Galran boys were wrestling.

 _The unsupervised offspring of Central Command staff_ , Allura thought.

The young play-fighters seemed to cast the rolling shade in the role of instant death for their little battle game as they swung each other around by the shoulders, swiping at ears, skidding across the ground and sending dust into the air with their footwork.

The boys were quick and limber, boldly testing athletic maneuvers albeit without proper control of their lanky frames.

_My, they do take that very seriously._

Evenly matched, they each tried to toss their opponent into the shadow of the platform. For one to mime death and the other to claim victory. Victory or Death may very well have been on their lips, strong little roars from their chests.

The engines that propelled the Djeti emitted a base hum that dominated the ambient sounds of the surrounding landscape but the children’s game took place close enough that a stray bout of laughter or surprised yelp could be heard by Altean ears. The high pitch of them, like spires of rock sticking out from an ocean of low sound. And it only drew closer as they shuffled to avoided the march of the dark curtain, platform executing a command to reposition.

Allura watched them for a while before turning to Honerva and noticed how the Empress seemed to forget where she was. Her eyes locked, pupilless and shining, unable to be dragged away from the boys as she slowly rubbed her hand against her body, just above her stomach, absently.

“Let us go back inside.” said the indigo queen, dazed.

“I think I will stay out here for just a few moments. I should very much like to enjoy a bit of fresh air. It’s cooler out here now.”

“I’d advise not too long. The nights on this planet are colder than what you’re accustomed to. Although the sunsets are very beautiful.”

Some time after Honerva retired to her abode, the children disappeared under the overhang of the balcony. When the hum of the Djeti was loudest, the curtain of shadow finally fell upon Allura like heavy blanket of premature night. The play-battle raged on, now directly below and out of sight. They were panting harshly, desperate and near the end. Feet slid across metal now and their claws made a terrible sound. There was a resounding thud and pained groan. Someone must have been thrown hard onto their back. The game dissolved into pure, lawless tussle as shadow engulfed everything around them.

* * *

 

“Officer Kyrek.” Allura called on her way to retire to her guest room.

Kyrek saluted, eyed her in surprise. “Highness?”

“I have want of entertainment. Tomorrow after my meetings.”

Kyrek’s stern mouth curled into a wicked smile, her teeth sharp and stark white against purple-gray gums. “What does a child of Altean royalty know of Galran entertainment?”

“Nothing truly. I’m coming to see now that I understand less of Daibazaal than I thought. But I hope to learn all that I can while I’m here.”

“It was a rhetorical question.” Kyrek said, visibly trying to tame her fangs and failing. She seemed to be falling away from her propriety, thrilling at the notion of an Altean taking this interest. “Pick your poison.”

“Combat.”

Allura waited a moment, holding her breath. Waited to see if Kyrek would dance words with her.

“I will not speak his name.” she added quickly.

Kyrek looked suspicious. “Naturally. All the stadia on Daibazaal are houses of combat.”

“I wish to see gladiators during my visit. To see if those with honor debts truly fight the hardest.”

Allura waited again.

“You wish to see--”

“I will not speak his name. I swear it on my own father’s memory.”

A cruel, freshly willing look washed over the officer’s face. “Ah, who would’ve thought? Already a battle monger of slaves?”

Allura frowned deeply. “I will be discrete.” She let her cells shift and her eyes glowed gold, took Galran form for a blink. “If you can be discrete.”

“I don’t mean to offend you, Highness, but you’ll do well to guard your sensibilities.”

“Allura.” Allura correctly gently. “You can call me Allura from now on.”

“Guard yourself, Allura. Even I don’t have the stomach for it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Cygrus for helping me edit this and for your wonderful support!
> 
> This is my VLD pet project to finally express my love of gen fic and to tell the story I've always wanted to tell! Specific content warnings will appear at the beginning of future chapter notes, if they apply.


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